


Greaspaint and Fairy Dust

by Syls Darkplace (sylsdarkplace)



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Explicit Sexual Content, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-27
Updated: 2013-12-27
Packaged: 2018-01-06 08:45:31
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,071
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1104812
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sylsdarkplace/pseuds/Syls%20Darkplace
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It’s Halloween. Sam’s least favorite holiday, and what should be the investigation of a simple salt and burn goes awry when Dean gets caught with his hand in the candy cauldron.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Greaspaint and Fairy Dust

 

“Morrison, OH, pop. 1,639,” Sam had quoted Wikipedia on the way into town.

“Huh,” Dean said. His fingertips drummed on the steering wheel worn smooth by hours on the road.

“What?” Sam asked.

Dean just shrugged. “Another small town, more dead people.”

“Yeah,” Sam said. “Well, maybe not. I mean there are three men missing and one dead. We don’t know the others are dead or connected to the one dead guy.” Sam squinted at the screen of his phone. “Robert Pierce, insurance agent.”

“In a month?” Dean side-eyed him. “Anything in common?”

“Yeah,” Sam said with a frown. “They all belonged to the same Masonic Lodge.”

“Jeez,” Dean said. “Really? Maybe we should consult with Dan Brown.”

Sam huffed out a laugh. “Maybe,” he said. “They were in their thirties or early forties, married, kids. Nothing odd about that. Different lines of work, so yeah, club affiliation is the only link I’m finding so far.”

“We should …” Dean sighed.

“We should, what?” The phone browser froze. No signal. Sam clicked the phone off and put it in his pocket.

“Go to the local library.” Dean glanced across the car. “Or historical society, maybe, see if we can dig something up about that Masonic chapter.”

Sam raised his brows. “Yeah, good idea.”

^^o^^

It was a lovely library, built in the Prairie style in the early part of the 20th Century with funding from the Carnegie Foundation. It had coffered ceilings and leaded-glass windows in which hung green goblins, purple spiders and white ghosts, and while Sam never cared much for Halloween, dozens of small voices making booing sounds from the children’s area made him smile. He proceeded to lose himself in the local history section while Dean wandered off.

Sam managed to find a 1950s account of a local landmark that housed the Masonic Lodge and was finishing his notes when a woman’s voice raised in indignation made his head snap around. There was Dean with his huge paw literally in the candy bowl on the circulation desk. It was actually a small plastic cauldron filled with brightly wrapped candies or it would have been if about half of them weren’t suspended in Dean’s fist.

“Answer me,” the woman said. “What do you think you’re doing, sir?” She wore a brown cardigan and had her gray hair pulled back in a loose bun a the back of her neck. She might ordinarily appear grandmotherly, but she looked more like Miss Gulch as she confronted Dean.

“Hear that, Sammy? _Sir_ ,” Dean smirked as Sam stepped to the counter.

“Dean, put that down,” Sam said.

“Used to be, _young man_ ,” Dean said.

“Now, Dean,” Sam said.

Dean rolled his eyes and opened his hand letting the candies fall back into the bowl like shiny confetti pieces.

“I, I’m sorry,” Sam said the librarian. He eyed her name tag. “Mrs. Kazinsky, he’s sorry. He never really got candy as a kid. Our family didn’t celebrate Halloween.”

“Right,” Dean said. “Religious thing.”

Sam resisted the urge to kick his brother for not knowing when to keep his big mouth shut.

The librarian pursed her lips and let her eyes flick between Sam and Dean. “The story behind trick or treat is bunk, you know?” she asked.

“Excuse me?” Sam asked.

“It was never about a ‘trick,’” she said, “or ‘treats.’ It was about facing your fear and winning your heart’s desire.”

Sam felt a weird twist of apprehension in his chest. “Where did you hear that?”

Her expression softened then. “From my grandmother. She was a wise woman.”

“How did it work?” Sam asked. He didn’t look at Dean, but he could feel his brother’s gaze boring into him. Dean was probably fighting the urge to smack him up back of the head.

Mrs. Kazinsky looked Sam in the eye. “First, you have to confront the thing you fear most …”

Dean suddenly leaned toward the counter. “Listen, lady, we know from fear, okay?”

“Dean!” Sam hissed.

Mrs. Kazinsky’s face seemed to turn to stone. “I don’t doubt it, but you don’t have your heart’s desire, do you?”

“Wait, I don’t understand,” Sam said. He didn’t know why he felt such a need to understand. She was just some random woman with an old wives’ tale passed down from her grandmother.

She reached into the candy bowl and took out a piece wrapped in bright purple foil. She offered it to Sam who took it. She looked into the bowl and chose a green one for Dean. He hesitated before accepting it.

“It’s just a story, boys,” she said with a smile. “Have a happy Halloween.”

“Thank you,” Sam said. He was unsatisfied, but let Dean’s hand on his shoulder turn him around.

“Thanks,” Dean said. “Come on, Sammy. We got work to do.”

“Yeah,” Sam said.

“So, what’d you find out?” Dean asked as they went down the front steps of the library.

“The Masonic Lodge is in a Gothic Revival landmark on the east side of town,” Sam said as they headed toward the Impala, which stretched out along the curb. “It was built in 1887, nearly destroyed by fire in 1930.” He pulled the passenger side door open.

“Yeah, well, I found out something too.” Dean cocked an eyebrow at him over the roof before getting in.

Sam folded himself into the front seat. “So, what’d you find out?”

“Saw a post on the bulletin board,” Dean said as he pumped the accelerator three times and turned the ignition. “It’s being renovated.”

“Of course,” Sam said.

“Yep.”

“The renovation has stirred up a spirit,” Sam said. “Maybe something to do with the fire.”

“Maybe,” Dean said. He checked the mirror and pulled the car from the curb. “So what flavor is yours?”

“Huh?”

“Your candy.”

“Oh, huh.” Sam frowned and rolled the hard confection across his tongue.

“Huh, what?”

“I didn’t even remember putting it in my mouth,” Sam said.

“Yeah, well, mine isn’t lime,” Dean said.

“What?”

“Green wrapper is usually lime, right? It’s licorice,” Dean said.

“Licorice? You mean, anise?”

“Whatever.” Dean rolled the candy on his tongue. “It’s like that drink we had in New Orleans.”

“Absinthe?” Sam asked “That’s ... weird.”

“I like it.”

“You would,” Sam said. “But, yeah, mine isn’t grape.”

“No?”

“No, it’s like … cotton candy.”

“Huh.”

“Yeah.”

^^o^^

Sam stretched as he awoke and banged his knee on the dash as he had a thousand times before.

“Dammit!” he cursed under his breath. He couldn’t think of why they’d be sleeping in the Impala instead of getting a room. There was a sweet, cloying taste in his mouth. He looked around, and they were parked in a residential neighborhood. Porch lights were on all around them and Jack o’ lanterns marched up the steps. Ghosts hung from trees, and the beams of flashlights swung through the shadows. Squeals and laughter floated in the half-opened windows of the car as tiny zombies and caped heroes and Disney princesses ran from house to house.

“Dean,” Sam said. “Hey, Dean …” He started to reach across the seat and nudge his brother only to find the exaggerated leer of Pennywhistle the clown. “Oh fuck!” Sam yelled because it wasn’t really Pennywhistle. It something far worse – huge red painted on smile surrounded shark’s teeth or ... vampire teeth. This was no cartoon clown with green hair and a comic grin. This was a thing of nightmares – bald pate framed by huge red hair, hungry leer and cruel golden eyes.

Sam didn’t know that he’d gripped the door handle until he fell backward as the door swung open and he landed on his ass in the parkway. The clown followed him across the seat and grabbed the door handle as though to pull it shut.

“Sam?” it said.

Sam knew the voice then and the green eyes caught in the light from a nearby house. Even through the clown make up, Dean looked slightly horrified.

“What the fuck are you wearing?” Dean said.

“Me?” Sam exclaimed. “Look at yourself.” But Sam did look down and was confused to see that he wasn’t wearing much of anything.

“Get in the fucking car,” Dean hissed as he slid back behind the wheel.

“I …”

“Get in, Sam!” Dean started the car. “Fuck, that’s all we need – you practically naked and a bunch of little kids running around. Look like a fucking pervert.”

“Hey,” Sam said as he got back in, “I’m as confused about this as you are.”

“What the hell is going on?” Dean asked as he drove down the street like a little old lady.

“Watch out for kids,” Sam said.

“I am,” Dean snapped. “It’s kind of hard to drive in these stupid shoes on anyway.”

Sam smirked.

“Shut up,” Dean said.

“I didn’t say …”

“What the fuck is going on?”

“I have no clue,” Sam said. “Hell, I don’t even know what I’m supposed to be.”

“Really?” Dean seemed to shudder. “Look at yourself.”

Sam considered the body paint or whatever it was that gave his skin a strange shimmering iridescent quality, the soft, light boots on his feet, and the codpiece he wore. Reaching upward he felt a laurel wreath on his brow and small, sharp horns protruding from his head.

“Check out the ears while you’re at it,” Dean said. “Yeah, pointed.”

Sam met his brother’s gaze in the passing of a street light. “So you’re a ... clown.”

“And you’re afraid of clowns,” Dean said.

“And I’m a fairy?” Sam said.

Dean didn’t say anything, but his fingers tightened on the wheel.

“Oberon.”

“Yeah,” Dean said.

“Dean …”

“Shut up, Sam.”

“The last thing I remember is leaving the library.”

“Yeah,” Sam said. “How could we be so stupid? Mrs. Kazinsky ... she didn’t mean that her grandmother was wise. She was a wisewoman, a ...”

“Fucking douchebag witch. Yeah, I get it, Sam.”

Sam sighed and looked out the window at the stores and fast food joints gliding by. “Where are we going?”

“Wal-Mart.”

“Wal-Mart?”

“Get your laptop and see what we need to get this make up off.”

“You think they’ll have what we need at Wal-Mart?” Sam asked.

“Why?”

“Because this is a spell, right?

“Yeah, well, we’ll try it my way first.”

^^o^^

They’d gotten a room at the oldest motel in town – The Toreador with its red neon half burnt out and wrought iron accents in the room. A huge print of a bullfighter hung on the wall over the beds. In the black and red tiled bathroom, they attempted to rub and scrub the color from their skin to no avail. Dean tossed the almost empty cold cream jar into the bathroom trash can and stomped out in shoes that would be ridiculous if they weren’t attached to such a frightening figure.

“Okay, so we need more than cold cream and baby shampoo,” Dean said.

“Right. Because that red hair? That’s growing out of your head,” Sam said trying to maintain some snark in the face of a nightmare.

Dean made an expression that caused Sam to shudder. He turned away and went to the table where he’d set his laptop.

“Sam,” Dean asked in that quiet voice he used when he was going to approach a touchy subject. Sam didn’t think he wanted to talk about whatever Dean was thinking, but at least he still recognized his brother’s voice.

“What?”

“That time I left you at Pennywhistle’s … did someone, did one of those guys in a clown suit …”

“No! No, Dean, no one … no one touched me,” Sam said.

The nightmare clown across the room sucked his lips between his teeth just like Dean and nodded because he was Dean. Sam squeezed his eyes shut a moment.

“Dean, did Oberon … did he?”

“Shut up, Sam!” Dean went to the cooler they’d left just inside the door and got a couple beers. He huffed then. “No, Sammy, he didn’t.” He twisted the cap off a beer bottle and offered it to Sam who took it.

Dean sat down on the edge of one of the beds. “So, I guess we need to figure out how to break this spell.”

“Maybe we should call Kevin,” Sam said.

“No!”

“Why? I mean …”

“Sam, what did we do before there was Kevin or Charlie or Garth or Bobby? Huh?”

Sam shook his head and frowned. “What do you … oh.”

“Yeah, oh,” Dean leaned back against the headboard of the bed and put his feet up. The toes of the long red shoes pointed at the ceiling, and Dean waggled his fingers at Sam. “So do your thing over there with your computer and your big brain, Sammy.”

“Right, okay,” Sam said with a chuckle. “I’ll see what I can dig up. I just don’t see what it would hurt to have some help.”

“I think we should handle this on our own,” Dean said.

“Okay.” Sam shrugged and sat down at the table. The vinyl of the chair seat felt sticky against his nearly bare ass, and he grimaced as he opened the laptop.

^^o^^

Dean struggled to consciousness. There was a weight on his legs and hands gripping his arms. His eyes flew open, and he gasped. He was back there behind the veil with the fae. He didn’t remember that Oberon was this fucking huge, but he recognized the wickedly sharp horns, greenish shimmering skin, and enormous codpiece that could mean only one thing.

“Dean, hey, it’s me,” the giant fairy on his lap said.

“Sam, you fucking dick,” Dean growled and tried to buck his brother from his lap. “I almost clocked you.” But throwing Sam off wasn’t as easy as it used to be. Sam tightened his grip on Dean’s arms and his knees bracketed Dean’s thighs.

“Listen,” Sam said. “I’ve figured it out.”

“The spell?”

“Yeah,” Sam said. Blue and green and gold danced in Sam’s fox-tilted eyes. “It’s not about clowns or fairies.”

“No?”

“No,” Sam said. He had that excited voice like when he was a kid and would come home to show Dean a big red A+ on a test. “No. Remember what Mrs. Kazinksy said?”

“Fucking witches, Sammy, you can’t believe a word out of their mouths. You know that.”

“Dean, come on,” Sam said. His big warm hands were firm and steady on Dean’s shoulders. “This isn’t about fairies or clowns. This, the way we look, that’s just a symbol. What she said about our greatest fear and our heart’s desire. It’s all the same. It’s us, Dean.”

“Wha …”

Before he could get the whole word out, Sam leaned in and pressed their lips together. Dean gasped, and the tip of Sam’s tongue slipped between his teeth. Dean’s breath froze in his chest as his tongue met his brother’s. Sam’s tongue retreated.

“Close your eyes and breathe,” Sam murmured against Dean’s lips. He slotted their mouths together and kissed Dean long and deep. When Dean opened his eyes, the horns and laurel wreath and pointed ears were gone. It was Sam with his messy, too long hair and dimples and puppy eyes.

“So,” Sam said.

“Yeah …”

The clown outfit and big shoes were gone as were the fairy boots and codpiece. They were left sporting nothing but hard ons.

“Um, awkward,” Sam said not quite knowing where to look.

“I, um, actually, I think I know what to do about that,” Dean said.

“Yeah?” Sam asked with the hint of a smile.

“Yeah,” Dean said and pulled Sam into another kiss.

^^o^^

Dean parked the Impala in front of the library and killed the engine.

“Wait, what are we doing here?” Sam asked.

“I have something to say to Mrs. Kazinsky,” Dean said and swung the driver’s side door open.

“No, Dean …” Sam smacked his head on the edge of the door in his haste to get out and follow his brother. “Dean, don’t.” Gold and red leaves drifted through the bright blue sky as the went up the walkway to the library.

“Sam, stop it,” Dean said as they strode up the steps. “You’re like that little dog in the cartoons, ‘Hey, Spike, hey, hey.’”

“You’re not funny, Dean,” Sam said. “After what she did …” He caught the door as it started to swing shut behind his brother.

“Calm down,” Dean said as the approached the circulation desk where the librarian had her head down working on the computer. “Excuse me, ma’am.”

She looked up. “Well, aren’t you polite today,” she said.

Dean nodded. “Right, about that …”

“Dean!” Sam grabbed Dean’s arm.

“Sam, let me finish,” Dean said. “I wanted to come by and apologize for being rude yesterday and trying to take more than my share of candy.”

“Well, I accept your apology, young man,” the librarian said with a twinkle in her eye.

Sam let out a sigh of relief, but it was short lived.

“And thank you,” Dean said.

Mrs. Kazinsky tipped her head. “Did you have a good Halloween then?” Her gaze went from Dean to Sam and back again.

“Yes,” Dean said, “I think we could say that. Right, Sammy?”

Sam felt his cheeks heat up. “Yeah,” he said.

“Wonderful,” Mrs. Kazinsky said. “Come back for Christmas. I always make my special punch.”

“Right,” Dean said and took a step back. “Sounds awesome.”

“Thanks,” Sam said over his shoulder as they headed out the door.

“Punch!” Dean said as they went down the steps. “More like witch’s brew.”

Sam snorted.

“Not funny,” Dean said. “Although, you know, as far as witches go.”

“Right?”

“Yeah, maybe they aren’t all douchebags.”

“Well, I don’t know …”

“Yeah, it was kind of douchebaggy prank.” Dean glanced at Sam. “You don’t think .. you think she knows?”

“God, I hope not.”

“No, she .. no, let’s just go with that, huh?”

“Yeah.”

They got in the Impala.

“Still it was worth the outcome, right?” Sam asked. He watched Dean’s profile as his brother nodded. There was the familiar twitch of a smile.

“Yeah, it was.”

Sam put his arm up on the back of the seat and stroked the nape of Dean’s neck with his fingertips. He’d almost have sworn he saw Dean’s lashes flutter at the touch. Dean bit his lip and started the car.

“Now,” he said, “about that spirit of the vengeful Mason.”

Sam let out a rueful chuckle. “Yeah, who needs Halloween when you’re us.”

Dean raised his eyebrows. “Guess we did, Sammy.”

“Right.”

-30-

 


End file.
